A Fair Fight
by CorellianBlue
Summary: "The only unfair fight is the one you lose." A young Han Solo is introduced to the realities of life as a smuggler. (I think I wrote this back in 2003. Anyway, I'm updating it as we go along. For your amusement.)
1. Chapter 1

**A Fair Fight**

 **by CorellianBlue**

(first published 2003, revised 2015)

I

Han Solo needed to fly. It was something he _had_ to do. Flying was instinctive, innate, like breathing. It gave him an indescribable sense of freedom and exhilaration. It was as addictive and as all-consuming as the spice he was contracted to smuggle. And flying was the only thing in his life that mattered. The only thing now worth living for.

But as much as he loved flying, Solo loathed the dull stretches of sitting in hyperspace once the ship made the jump to lightspeed. As far as Han was concerned, travelling through hyperspace was a tedious means unto an end. It was like being frozen in time with nothing to do but wait and think until the ship dropped back into realspace and he had the chance to fly again. Solo had never greatly appreciated the chance to wait and think.

As he leaned against the rim of the hatchway to the freighter's cockpit, Solo's gaze moved from the kaleidoscope of hyperspace that screamed past the canopy to the Wookiee seated in the co-pilot's chair. _His_ co-pilot. That thought did not sit well with the young man either.

The Wookiee, Chewbacca, had been Solo's constant companion for nearly ten Standard months, since Solo's dishonourable discharge from the Imperial Navy. Not that the Corellian had encouraged the Wookiee to remain with him. The shaggy behemoth had gotten it into his brain that he owed Solo something—the Wookiee's _life_ , to be precise. And just because Solo had freed the former slave from Imperial captivity.

Solo had spent most of the ten months trying to convince the Wookiee that the Life Debt he had pledged did not apply to humans, and that he needed to leave the young man alone and return to his homeworld and family.

To better understand the Wookiee and to argue his point, Solo had taken a crash course in Shri-Wook. Fortunately the young man had a good ear for languages, thanks to the few years he'd spent on the streets of the Corellian capital as a teenager. But it was debatable exactly _what_ Solo had achieved over these months. He had yet to fully master Shri-Wook, being unable to re-produce the deep growling sounds to speak it himself, and he had problems translating words that Chewbacca spoke too quickly or too softly. In return, the Wookiee was obviously having trouble with Basic as he was still with Han and still threatening to stay with him forever.

 _At least,_ Solo thought, _I'm flying again._

For a while it had looked as though he may never have flown again. Despite being an honours graduate from the Imperial Academy, Solo had consistently failed to gain his commercial pilot's licence after being court martialled. The Empire had blacklisted him. His name appeared on the database of every licensing authority and local security force this side of the Outer Rim. He'd been tagged as a petty criminal who should not be issued with a licence to fly or drive any form of transport, meaning that he'd been denied the ability to earn an honest living as a law-abiding pilot.

Solo did not have the credits to buy a new identity, alter his physical appearance or adjust his DNA, so he'd had no other option than to work outside the law. To be fair, he had tried his hand in positions other than as a pilot, albeit briefly. He had worked as a swoop mechanic for a speeder repair station for a few weeks, and had lasted even less time as a salesman for a disreputable dealership of second-hand atmospheric craft. In both positions, his flippant attitude, wisecracking mouth and inability to suffer fools had quickly put paid to any career prospects.

Solo had known that the only path for him was to be a pilot, no matter how he achieved it or what sort of flying jobs he got. It was the sole marketable skill he had and the only way he could make a living. Plus he knew he'd go crazy if he was forced to stay dirtside for too long. If he was going to live—to breath—he needed to fly.

Without a licence and with no means of gaining one, that meant he would have to pilot illegally. And those employers who did not care if he was licensed were unconcerned with other laws they wanted him to break. He had learnt the hard way that these employers would also rather cheat or murder him than fully pay for his services.

His first few jobs piloting in this illicit environment had not gone well. He'd been both underpaid and then not paid at all. As the cargo he had shipped had been contraband, Han hadn't been able to complain to the authorities at the injustice of not being correctly compensated.

To stop this from happening again, Han thought it would be best if he could offer himself and a ship as a package to potential employers, and hold onto the goods until recompensed. But until he could afford to buy a ship, the alternative was to become an indentured pilot which meant accepting a contract and working full-time for only one boss. The wages would not be as lucrative as one-shot flights for a range of employers, but at least a contract virtually assured he would be paid.

Solo soon discovered that potential employers weren't eager to gamble on him. He was unknown and untested, a pilot with no history, and only being 22-years-old hadn't helped either.

With the few credits he had, and crewing for their passage, Solo and Chewbacca had travelled all the way out along the Mid Rim while he looked for work as a contracted pilot. It was on the under-developed world of Tuusaan'ara VI that they finally found someone willing to take a chance on him.

Stig Gwydir was a small-time Corellian businessman playing it big amongst the Naalii, the orange-skinned indigenous sentients of Tuusaan'ara VI. Gwydir had expressed a connection and kinship towards the younger Corellian that Solo hadn't felt in return, but Han hadn't questioned it, not after it had helped get him the contract he was after. Unfortunately, Gwydir's philanthropy had not extended to Chewbacca. The businessman had scoffed at the idea that Wookiees were a sentient species, a xenophobic attitude that was entrenched throughout the Empire. Solo was given the contract and the wages, not the Wookiee, regardless that Chewbacca operated as Solo's co-pilot. In the end, Gwydir got two pilots for the price of one, and Solo and his Wookiee survived on one salary.

Han knew the deal wasn't fair, but as much as he loathed racism he hadn't been in a position to argue. He needed the job and the credits. Besides, it wasn't as if Solo was making the Wookiee hang around; it was Chewbacca's own stubbornness and stupidity that saw to that. However, it still wasn't fair. Chewbacca was a good pilot, although inexperienced in the dextrous piloting they occasionally needed to escape from intra-system law enforcement agencies. The Wookiee was proving to be a fast learner, and had quickly picked up the skills Solo tutored him in. In return Chewbacca had improved the young Corellian's knowledge of starship maintenance, and the Wookiee's great strength was invaluable when shifting freight around.

As much as Solo hated to admit it, there was strange sort of relationship developing between himself and Chewbacca. They shared the workload, shared the pay, made up for the other's weaknesses, and tolerated—if not enjoyed—the companionship of the other. Solo and Chewbacca had become partners in all but name and equality in the eyes of others.

Even now, twelve weeks into the contract, Solo chafed at the injustice of the situation. Watching the Wookiee as he sat in the co-pilot's seat, monitoring the freighter's sensors and displays, Solo knew that Chewbacca did the same amount of work as he did and deserved to be on Gwydir's payroll. Chewbacca contributed to the success of each smuggling run, which helped build up Gwydir's business. But justice was not something Solo had come to expect in the galaxy, and certainly not from Gwydir or the people he paid off in the corrupt local government.

Chewbacca suddenly looked over his shoulder and stared curiously at the Corellian, drawing Solo's introspection to a self-conscious halt. Han pushed himself upright and moved into the cockpit. Falling into the pilot's seat with casual grace, he cast a glance over his side of the instrument board and pulled on the headset.

"Cargo's secure," he told Chewbacca, referring to the reason for his absence from the cockpit. No matter how carefully they stored the freight in the holds, Solo insisted on checking both the legit and black goods before they dropped out of hyperspace. He'd learnt from an early age that you could never be too careful with your cargo. Check it once, his free-trading father had told, then check it again. "What's the ETA to exit?"

Chewbacca flicked a faulty read-out with his hairy finger. ["Five point four-five minutes".]

Solo nodded to himself. "Shield generators on stand-by?"

Chewbacca growled a low, ["Check."]

"Navicomp at optimum?"

["Check."]

"Stasis field systems?"

["Check."]

"Sublight drive idling?"

The Wookiee made an annoyed sigh but answered, ["Check."]

"And how are the inertial dampers holding?" Solo had been worried that the cheap dampers that he'd been forced to buy—after the original ones had given out en route to their pick-up—wouldn't be able to cope with the stresses of hyperspace.

When Chewbacca failed to respond, Han looked across at him. They eyed each other warily before the Corellian asked, "What?"

["You still don't trust me",] Chewbacca accused, ["do you?"]

Solo's gaze returned to the instrument panel. "What makes you say that?"

The frustration was evident in the Wookiee's tone. ["You treat me like a cub. Or a thief in the night. You have to check and re-check everything I do. It is as if you do not trust my judgement or my honesty."]

"Flying requires checklists," Solo defensively replied, his eyes remaining on the displays. "Standard op procedures require it."

["Perhaps on a Star Destroyer,"] Chewbacca griped out the side of his mouth. ["Have you forgotten this is a smuggler's freighter, Little Brother?"]

Solo rounded on his co-pilot. "I told you not to call me that!"

A broad grin broke across Chewbacca's face, his eyes widening in mock-innocence. ["Call you what? Smuggler? Or brother?"]

Scowling, the Corellian turned away again. "I'm the captain of this ship," he asserted. "I'm entitled to check the work of my crew."

["We both have jobs to do. Let me get on with mine and you worry about your own. We will work better as a team that way."]

Unable to face Chewbacca again, Han chewed on the inside of his mouth. He only looked up when a heavy hand gripped his shoulder in a reassuring manner.

Chewbacca softly growled, ["You can trust me, Han. You can rely on me."]

Solo tried to avert his gaze from the Wookiee's blue eyes, but he felt compelled to return the candour.

["Have I let you down yet?"]

Solo grimaced, curtly shook his head.

Chewbacca nodded in agreement. ["And I won't. You can be assured of that".]

Solo's eyes narrowed but he said nothing.

Wookiee and Corellian returned to their respective tasks as they prepared for the exit from hyperspace. They worked quickly and thoroughly, neither saying a word to the other. Although tempted to check on Chewbacca's work, Solo held his tongue and curiosity, prepared to give his partner the benefit of the doubt, at least this time anyway.

' _Partner',_ Solo mused, as he called up their co-ordinates from the navicomputer. He didn't know which title was worse: that, or 'co-pilot'.

The G-25 light freighter they were travelling in had seen better days. The 28-metre elliptical vessel could carry up to 150 tonnes of cargo, but currently only held about a tonne of exotics fruits and other delicacies, and 50 kilograms of spice of assorted types, grade and quality. The ship was lightly armed with a pair of inoffensive laser cannons, weaponry that had never been trialled in combat and as he was unsure of their accuracy, Solo hoped they never had to be put to such a test. Manufactured by Nova-Drive, this ship was usually a good performer and competitively priced when compared with its equivalent from the Corellian Engineering Corporation. But the Naalii technicians maintained this freighter poorly and indifferently. Solo suspected Gwydir used the local semi-skilled mechanics as part of a financial kickback to the Tuusaan'ara government in return for them turning a blind eye to Gwydir's smuggling operations. The result was shoddy workmanship and systems that blew at the wrong time, like the inertial dampers had on this particular journey.

["Two minutes to exit,"] Chewbacca softly growled, and a few seconds later the navicomputer chimed a similar warning.

Solo glanced at the Chewbacca, uncertain if the Wookiee had pre-empted the navicomputer or if the systems were running slow. Regardless, he nodded approval at his co-pilot, then returned to his own tasks. He tweaked the frequency settings of the comms gear to the channel the Naalii security forces would issue instructions, and confirmed that Gwydir's corporate code was emitting from the identification transponder. Being a freighter from Gwydir's fleet, the Naali would know that he was smuggling black goods in addition to hauling a legitimate cargo as cover. But Solo would still had to go through the hoops the security forces would put them through, which included giving identification details and allowing customs and excise officials to inspect the holds once planetside. When the cargo had been cleared and they had received a customs waiver, Gwydir's financial adviser would ensure that the Tuusaan'ara government was appropriately recompensed. Solo couldn't help but admire the way Gwydir's operation efficiently and effortlessly combined smuggling runs with what appeared to be a legal business.

["One minute to exit."]

Solo silently went through his own checklist as he watched the systems Chewbacca was responsible for come on-line. The levels of the outer shields peaked, the sublight engines rumbled as the revs increased and, for what it was worth, power was finally routed to the underpowered cannon.

Solo's eyes flicked between the displays of the different systems and the naivcomputer's visual countdown. He felt a buzz of adrenalin in anticipation of returning to realspace, followed by a tingling that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He rubbed at the spot, uncertain what it meant, and was distracted by the thought that he needed a haircut. His hair was by no means long, but it was certainly longer than the crew-cut he'd worn during his short time in the Navy. It was taking him time to get used to the current length of his hair, just as it was taking him time to get used to a lot of things in his new life.

The roar of the hyperdrive grew louder as the unit prepared to drop the ship out of lightspeed. Solo mentally counted off the seconds with the timer. Outside the cockpit, the hyperspace tunnel faded into indefinitely long starlines as the ship decelerated rapidly.

"Prepare to cut in the sublight engines," Solo ordered, raising his voice over the whine of the freighter's hull as the plating buckled with stress.

Solo's grip tightened on the control yoke and he watched the Wookiee obey the directions. For a moment his eyes caught Chewbacca's and they frowned at each other, suspecting something was wrong. Then the exit was complete and they _knew_ something was wrong as their ship was spearing towards the bow of a Tuusaan'ara frigate.

Chewbacca had already switched over to the fully-primed sublight drive by the time Solo was barking for him to do it, but the vessel was still sluggish to respond as Solo banked hard to starboard. Solo ignored the proximity warnings blaring in his ears and fired obscenities at Chewbacca, the frigate and their own ship. Increasing their speed, he coaxed the freighter into a barrel roll, all the while berating the Wookiee for incorrectly setting the exit coordinates into the navicomputer.

Chewbacca roared back angrily at the pilot, ["I _did_ set the coordinates correctly!"]

"Then why the hell are we 50,000 klicks from where we're supposed to be?"

["How should the fuck should I know?!"]

The Naalii were a notoriously suspicious and anxious species, which was why they had a 50,000-kilometre exclusion zone around their planet. Spacers wishing to do business on Tuusaan'ara had to leave hyperspace by the edge of the exclusion zone and transit the remaining distance to the plant at sublight speeds. As the planet was now a large disc filling the freighter's cockpit canopy and the freighter had nearly run head first into a security force picket ship, it suggested that they had well and truly over-shot the exit point.

The Corellian grit his teeth as he held the etheric rudder at its maximum point, praying that the shield depth of the Tuusaan'ara frigate was significantly less than that of a comparable Imperial vessel, otherwise the freighter would be scraped into a molten mess. But although he was absorbed with avoiding a collision with the frigate, out the corner of his eye he caught the movement of Chewbacca's hands towards the instrument board.

"Don't touch a fucking thing!" Solo yelled at the Wookiee. "You've fucked things enough already. I don't want you fucking up something else."

Chewbacca folded his arms across his chest, sat back in his seat and said nothing.

The momentum of the roll was enough to push the egg-shaped freighter across and under the frigate's hull, just barely missing its shields. The Tuusaan'ara vessel reacted slowly, and Han had the freighter back on an even vector before the frigate popped off a few ineffectual shots from its cannon. The freighter bucked as the lasers splashed against its shields.

Solo furiously routed more power to the rear shields as he tried to put some distance between themselves and the frigate, hoping to get out of range of the turbolasers before attempting to explain to the Naalii what had happened. He confirmed that the identification transponder was squawking Gwydir's corporate code and trusted the Naalii would stop firing on him once they realised who authorised Han's payment vouchers.

["The coordinates are correct,"] Chewbacca pointed out sulkily.

Solo snapped, "What?"

["The exit coordinates. They are correct. See for yourself."]

Solo reluctantly studied the display as Chewbacca transferred the information to his board. The Wookiee was right; the exit coordinates had been set accurately. That meant the problem had to be with the navicomputer itself. The navicomputer's chronos must have been incorrectly synced. It had dropped them out of hyperspace a fraction of a second _after_ it should have. Any later and they may have re-entered realspace in the middle of the planet.

Solo glanced contritely at his co-pilot, but it was too late to apologise as the security force frigate was already snarling at them in guttural Naalii over the comms channel. The Corellian toggled on the translation filter so that he could understand the instructions. Despite his ear for languages, he hadn't been on Tuusaan'ara long enough to work out all the nuances of the Naalii dialect.

"Unidentified freighter, haul to and identify yourself."

There was no way Solo was going to obey that direction, not with a frigate on their tail peppering laser fire in their wake.

He frowned as he pushed the ship as fast as he dared. _Unidentified?_

"Check the ID transpon..." He trailed off when he realised Chewbacca had already done just that before being told.

["The transponder is transmitting our code."]

Solo opened his mike to the comms channel. "TSF frigate, this is Captain Jonash Skyler of _Gwydir's Girl_. You should be receiving our IFF code—"

"Unidentified freighter, _do not_ , repeat, _do not_ tell us what we should be receiving. Your transponder would appear to be inoperative."

Chewbacca shook his head to indicate that the frigate was wrong; the transponder was broadcasting the correct code on the correct frequency. Solo rolled his eyes. He knew there was no point in arguing with the Naalii. For such a small race of humanoids, these guys had a huge superiority complex, belligerently arguing they were in the right particularly when dealing with humans. As Han spoke Basic, the Naalii probably would have assumed he was human, and his accent may even have branded him as Corellian. They should also have recognised the name of the ship as belonging to Stig Gwydir; Gwydir was as well-known on Tuusaan'ara as the planet's president-administrator. Even if they couldn't pick up the freighter's code, the Naalii should have been able to take an educated guess at who Han worked for.

"Turn the transponder off, Chewie," Solo instructed. "Then turn it on again when I tell you. These morons probably need to _see_ the IFF come on before they can pick it up."

Chewbacca shrugged his compliance.

"TFS frigate," Solo spoke into the headset again, "you're right. We've found the problem. How's this?" He nodded at the Wookiee and Chewbacca flicked the transponder back on.

Apart from a few reaching lances of laser fire, there was silence from the frigate. Then the lasers stopped and the translated Naalii voice came back.

" _Gwydir's Girl_ , we have positive identification. Identify your crew, passengers and cargo."

Han repressed a sigh and dutifully rattled off the details. "Pilot. Name: Jonash Skyler. Origin: Corellia. Age: 22 Standard years. Co-pilot. Name: Erwarrk. Origin: Kashyyyk. Age: 193 Standard years. Cargo: fresh and preserved fruit and vegetables. Nil pax." In case they did not understand his unintentional military-speak, Solo added, "I say again, no passengers." He waited a beat then concluded, "Our vessel is listed as part of Stig Gwydir's fleet. You know, Gwydir Imports."

"We are quite aware who you work for," the Naalii curtly responded. "Haul to and explain why you breached the exclusion zone."

Although the frigate had stopped firing, Solo was still not prepared to do as instructed. He didn't trust any security force _not_ to take advantage of a situation where they had the upper hand. Instead he slowed the freighter so that it was just outside the range of fire, but kept her nose pointed away from the frigate.

"Apologies, TSF frigate. Our exit point was set to,"—he hunted for the coordinates and did a quick calculation in his head—"one-five-one-eight-eight-three kilometres from where we ended up. The chronos on our navicomputer seem to be running out of sync." He grimaced apologetically at his co-pilot. "We can transfer this data to you for confirmation."

Chewbacca suddenly growled in frustration. ["Great. They're sending out a squadron to meet us."]

Solo called up the sensor display that indicated two fighters had just launched from the frigate, and noted with both disgust and satisfaction that they were a pair of outdated Z-95 Headhunters.

"That's hardly a squadron," he scolded.

["And we have hardly any firepower, if you remember."]

"And we're not in a position to do anything about it, if _you_ remember." He shook his head to himself; despite the temptation, now was not the time to get into an argument with his co-pilot.

" _Gwydir's Girl_ , you will transfer your navicomputer's exit point data to us for confirmation," the Naalii voice directed.

"Good idea. Why didn't I think of that?" Han mumbled to himself, then keyed the headset mike on again. "Coming through to you now." He knew without looking that Chewbacca was transmitting the data to the frigate, and he instead concentrated on the blips of the display that were the fighters.

The Headhunters may have been older than the G-25 freighter, but they still had some spark in them and had soon pulled up alongside their ship, one Hunter on either side and riding less than 20 metres off his wings. Hoping to hell that no-one sneezed, Han gave the nearest pilot a faux-friendly wave.

["And how are we going to get out of this, 'Captain'?"] For once the sarcasm was so unmistakable in Chewbacca's tone that Solo didn't have trouble recognising it.

He gave the Wookiee a mock-pleasant smile. "We do what the nice Naalii tell us to do. They let us land, check out the cargo and hopefully by that time they'll have realised that we really work for Gwydir."

["Nice and easy?"]

"Yeah," Han stiffly agreed. "Nice and easy. You got a problem with that?"

The TSF frigate interrupted before the conversation took a nasty turn. " _Gwydir's Girl_ , you will follow our escort fighters down to Kartaya Port. You will not deviate from this track. If you do, you will be fired upon. When you reach Kartaya, your vessel will be impounded and thoroughly checked by customs officers. It will only be released once we are satisfied."

 _Satisfied with what?_ Solo wondered. Mentioning Gwydir's name was usually enough to clear them through anything, but it obviously wasn't going to work this time. Han was tempted to contact Gwydir and see if he could smooth out the wrinkles that had developed in this freighting run. Except, for security reasons, contacting base while still in transit was strictly forbidden. Besides, Solo knew he wouldn't be able to speak to Gwydir personally; he'd most likely get stuck with one of the data-pushing lackies and that would only cause him more grief. He hoped that once they got planetside, things would sort themselves out.

"Do you comprehend these orders?" The Naalii's tone was clipped and officious.

"Yeah, we comprehend your orders."

Solo tried to ignore Chewbacca's muttered observation, ["Nice and easy."]

The Headhunter pilot Solo had waved to made a motion with his hand, instructing Han to follow. The snub-nosed fighter banked towards Tuusaan'ara and Solo turned the freighter to match its track, aware that the other Hunter was sticking dangerously close to his other wing. He obeyed the instructions without deviation, without looking at his co-pilot, and without paying attention to the Wookiee's softly accusing laughter.

[Nice and easy,] Chewbacca repeated under his breath. [When is it ever nice and easy for us?]

Solo only grunted to himself and kept the freighter's nose pointed planetside.


	2. Chapter 2

**A Fair Fight**

 **by CorellianBlue**

(first published 2003, revised 2015)

II

The customs officer chewed on his stylus as he again compared the manifest on the data reader with the cargo in front of him, counting off the fruit and vegetables with deliberate care. Solo leaned heavily against the bulkhead and rolled his eyes at Chewbacca, knowing that in the last fifty minutes the details on the plaque he had given to the official had not changed, nor had the number or types of fresh food in the stasis containers. The official was either incompetent or anally retentive.

Chewbacca gave Han a forced smile in reply, but the Wookiee's gaze remained on the rifle-toting guard on the other side of the hold. Solo only glanced at the guard, relying instead on Chewbacca's circumspection.

Both slender Naali stood as tall as Solo's armpit and wore tight-fitting uniforms, blue for the security guard and grey for the customs officer. The guard held an indigenously-produced carbine, a weapon that was too large to be held comfortably or confidently. There was an edginess to the way the Naali guard watched the human and the Wookiee, as if he was over-zealous or over-anxious. In combination, zeal and anxiety made a dangerous mix. Solo kept his hand hooked in the top of his gun-belt, close to his own blaster. Likewise Chewbacca's clawed hands rested on the stock of the bowcaster that hung from his shoulder. After twelve weeks on Tuusaan'ara, Solo and Chewbacca had learned that nothing should be expected or taken for granted when it came to the Naali, especially when a customs inspection was taking longer than usual.

The customs officer clicked his tongue and shook his head. "This does not check out, pilot."

Solo frowned. "What doesn't check out?"

"Your cargo does not check out."

"It's all on the manifest. Everything's accounted for."

"That it is," the Naali agreed. "Except you do not have a licence to import exotic foodstuffs."

The officer stood his ground as Solo strode towards him. The guard waved the carbine in Solo's direction and Chewbacca reciprocated by tilting his bowcaster towards the guard.

"What do you mean there's no import licence?" the Corellian demanded. "Our boss would've arranged for one before we left here."

The Naali seemed unperturbed by the young human looming over him. "There _was_ an import licence." He glanced at his datapad for verification. "Gwydir Imports arranged one five days ago."

A smugness briefly lit Solo's face. "So what's the problem?"

"The licence has since been cancelled."

Solo grabbed the datapad from the officer, oblivious to the face-off occurring between the guard and the Wookiee. "Cancelled?" As the words on the datapad's screen were in the foreign Naali script, Han had no idea what they said. But he knew that an import licence should have been cleared before they'd departed Tuusaan'ara on their run; that was standard operating procedure for the company.

The customs officer assertively pulled the datapad back from Solo's hand. "Yes, cancelled."

"Who cancelled it?" the smuggler insisted.

"Gwydir Imports."

"Gwydir…?" It didn't make sense. "W-when did they cancel it?"

The customs officer re-checked the information on the datapad to remind himself. "As soon as they were notified that you had breached the exclusion zone."

Solo's face paled and his eyes sought out the Wookiee's. Chewbacca momentarily allowed his gaze to drift from the guard to his captain. The two partners silently exchanged their suspicions, reaching the same conclusion simultaneously: Gwydir was setting them adrift to punish them for breaking his rules, rules that were designed to keep the local government placated and accepting of a percentage of Gwydir's smuggling operations.

With no import licence and without Gwydir's protection, the Tuusaan'ara Customs Service would no doubt conduct a thorough examination of the ship, which meant the possibility they would also detect the hidden cache of spice. The small freighter may have been equipped with shielded smuggling compartments but as they had never been subjected to a thorough inspection before, Solo was uncertain how much scrutiny they could withstand. He was also unsure what the penalty was for smuggling an illicit substance into Tuusaan'ara. With fraud, corruption and other illegal activities rife on this world, Solo suspected the price for not playing by the home team's rules would be rather ugly and expensive. As it was, he was already heavily out of pocket for the inertial dampers he'd replaced on the freighter.

The customs officer puffed up his chest in an attempt to make himself look larger. "Under the Tuusaan'ara Customs Act, failure to have an import licence results in the confiscation of your cargo in addition to a fine. I should also remind you, pilot, that a penalty applies for breaching the exclusion zone and for failing to follow the directions of the Tuusaan'ara Security Force. Your vessel may even be subject to forfeit for such blatant disregard of Tuusaan'ara regulations."

As the list of potential penalties piled up, Solo's initial shock surged into scorching anger. He was under no delusions that the smuggling business was risky, but in the short time he'd been working as a smuggler he'd been burnt once too often by disreputable employers. He had – naively he now realised – assumed that working as an indentured pilot would mean stability and a decent wage. That Gwydir had now also deceived him, in spite of his claims of amity and friendship, only rubbed more salt into the young man's wounds.

Solo's hand slid to the grip of his blaster. Like many who lived on the dark side of the law, Solo had taken to wearing his custom-made DL-44 heavy blaster pistol in a low-slug holster, the same gun-rig he had used to practice his speed-draw in Imperial firing ranges when he was a naval pilot. It had seemed strange at first to openly wear such a dangerous weapon as a civilian, but he had soon grown accustomed to the authority and self-assurance it gave him. People had certainly been regarding him with a level of caution, if not respect, since he'd been wearing his blaster.

"You know what?" he asked as he moved towards the customs officer, his voice dangerously low.

The customs officer hastily backed away, trying to maintain some distance between himself and the hostile Corellian.

"You can keep the cargo. And the ship. It's not mine anyway." He bared his teeth in a fierce smile. "But if you think there's anyway I'm gonna pay those  
fines—"

["Han."]

Solo ignored the Wookiee and, using his best impersonation of a stormtrooper, intimidated the small, orange-skinned being up against the bulkhead. The Naali quivered as Solo removed the blaster from his holster.

Chewbacca's entreaty became more insistent. ["Han!"]

This time Solo heard his partner. "Just take care of that guard and I'll handle this—"

Chewbacca pulled suddenly at the Corellian's shoulder and Solo found himself jerked back a metre from where he'd been. ["Han!"]

Solo rounded on the Wookiee. "What?!"

Still pointing his bowcaster at the guard and blocking the Naali's aim at Solo, Chewbacca spared his partner a quick glance. ["Ask him how much the fines cost."]

Torn between what Chewbacca had said and what the increasingly apprehensive guard was doing with the carbine, Solo was uncertain he had heard the Wookiee correctly. "What?"

["Ask him how much the fines cost."] Chewbacca reached across and pushed down the muzzle of Han's blaster, indicating the guard with a tilt of his head. ["And holster your weapon before this idiot over here does something stupid."]

The Wookiee's composure and advice seemed to have a calming, if begrudging, effect on Solo. Eying the security guard, the young man returned the blaster to the gun-rig.

"Why should we care how much the fines are? We don't have—"

["Ask."]

Grimacing but suspecting Chewbacca knew what he was talking about, Solo turned back to find the customs officer studying him warily, obviously curious about the exchange between the man and the Wookiee. "How much are the fines?"

It was as if the question was exactly what the customs officer had been waiting to hear. His grey eyes widened and brightened, and the hue of his skin shone with vigour. A thin smile appeared across the slash of mouth, then pursed as the Naali considered his response.

"For the lack of import licence, 500 credits. Plus 4,000 nigara. Breaching the exclusion zone is 1,000 credits. Plus 4,000 nigara. Disobeying the Security Force attracts a fine of 750 credits. Plus another 4,000 nigara."

Solo immediately understood what the customs official was asking for. The official fines, the ones that would end up in the Tuusaan'aran government's consolidated revenue, were calculated in Imperial credits. But the officer was also interested in collecting his own 'fines' in the local nigara currency. If he hadn't been so angry, Solo might have sniggered in bemused irony. Although there was no way he wanted to pay either the fine or the bribe, he had barely enough money to buy himself and Chewbacca a decent meal. This was yet another reason why he'd been relying on collecting payment and recompense from Gwydir.

"And if you give the guard 1,000 nigara," the customs officer advised, "he'll forget any of this happened."

["And what about the cargo?"] Chewbacca added, nudging his partner in the ribs.

Solo rolled his eyes and relayed the question.

The Naali glanced at the stasis containers, making a "hmm" noise through pursed lips. "You may retain the cargo."

Shaking his head, Solo sneered and was about to make a snide comment when he noticed that Chewbacca had slung his bowcaster back over his shoulder and was hunting through the large carryall pouch that hung at his side.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Solo demanded.

Chewbacca pulled out a sheath of currency and credit vouchers. ["Paying the gentle Naali."]

Solo gaped as the Wookiee began counting out the fines and the bribes. The appearance of the money dispersed the tense atmosphere. The security guard lowered his carbine and the customs officer, practically drooling, lost all fear and rushed to Chewbacca's side.

Solo asked incredulously, "Where did you get that?"

The guard joined the customs officer next to Chewbacca. The Naali both stood at Chewbacca's elbows, peering over the Wookiee's hairy arms at the money.

["I've been saving it,"] Chewbacca proudly replied. [And profiting from the odd wager.]

Since working for Gwydir, Solo had been giving the Wookiee half of his wages – for doing half of the work – but he had no idea Chewbacca had been saving most of it. Solo had had trouble surviving on his half of the credits; buying the replacement inertial dampers had practically cleared him out.

The Corellian watched Chewbacca count out the credits and the nigara into the waiting hands of the Naali, grateful that his partner was frugal enough to save their asses yet annoyed that he'd personally played no part in this rescue.

The security guard quickly pocketed his 1,000 nigara and disappeared from the hold. The customs officer more leisurely re-counted the fine and the bribe himself, despite having already seen Chewbacca count out the notes and credit vouchers. He placed the credits in a pouch around his waist and secreted the nigara in an internal pocket of his uniform, a self-satisfied smile spreading rapidly across his face.

"You're welcome," Solo muttered.

Oblivious to the sarcasm, the customs officer told them, "Because you have been co-operative, your vessel will not be confiscated. And you are very lucky that I have decided that your cargo is also not forfeit."

Solo shook his head and ran his hand through his hair. "Lucky doesn't begin to describe what we are."

Chewbacca growled reprovingly at the Corellian and pushed at his shoulder.

The Naali's face was unreadable. "I bid you good day."

"Yeah," Solo called after the Naali as he left the hold and departed from the freighter, "you have a good day with our credits!"

["You mean _my_ credits!"] Chewbacca snarled, pushing at Solo's shoulder again.

"Will you quit doin' that!" Solo snarled back, jerking away so he was out of the Wookiee's grasp. He stormed across the hold and started sealing the stasis containers which had been opened for the inspection. "Y'know, Chewie, sometimes you act like my mother."

Chewbacca scoffed softly, ["Sometimes you need a mother."]

Solo shot him a sidelong glance. "You're a real funny guy."

["I'm glad you think so."]

Solo smiled tightly and finished the last seal. He stood upright and turned to his partner, hitching his hands on his hips. "Well, Mr Comedian, how about _you_ unload the cargo."

It was not a question. The Wookiee cocked his head curiously, seeking an explanation as to why he was suddenly expected to unload on his own when they had always done so together. When none was forthcoming, Chewbacca stated the obvious.

["You are pissed I had the credits to pay off the Naali."]

"You only had the credits because I took pity on your sorry ass and gave them to you!"

Chewbacca's eyes widened and his nostrils flared. Solo returned the glare with equal vigour, almost daring his partner to suggest otherwise.

Chewbacca seemed prepared to let the challenge go and changed tack slightly. [And what will you be doing while your 'Wookiee slave' is unloading the cargo?]

Solo visibly winced and felt his stomach pitch downwards. Chewbacca certainly knew how to play dirty.

"I'm gonna see that pask'aghlla and get our money back."

["Pask…?"] Chewbacca stumbled with the unfamiliar word.

"Asshole," Solo brusquely interpreted the low Corelli idiom, brushed past the Wookiee and headed along the passageway.

It took Chewbacca a moment to realise the insult had not been directed towards him. ["Which asshole?"] he asked as he followed the young pilot.

"Gwydir," Solo shot back irritably. "He owes _me_ for the dampers I bought for this bucket. He owes _you_ for the fines you forked out to safe our hides. And he owes _us_ for doing this job."

Solo was now on the other side of the freighter, in front of the hatchway to the crew quarters. Squatting, he pressed his fingertips firmly against five innocuous rivets in a series of 50 or more, and watched as a concealed cover emerged on the opposite bulkhead. He flipped the cover to expose a panel of toggle switches and light-emitting diodes. The keying sequence was more complex than that with the rivets, but he had a sharp memory and the LEDs were soon blinking to indicate he had inserted the correct code. There was a soft _whoosh_ of air and then a larger panel slid apart on the bulkhead, revealing a stack of compact stasis containers which were much smaller than those in the cargo hold.

["What are you doing?"] Chewbacca asked as he watched his partner shuffle forward on his haunches.

Solo selected one of the containers and hauled it from the compartment. Still crouched down on the deck, he unsealed the container, pulled back a protective shield and removed five opaque vials. _Glitterstim spice_.

["What are you doing?"] Chewbacca implored again, his question now asked in hushed tones, as if the sight of the illicit substance would bring out the local security force.

Solo shook each vial in turn, checking that the threads of photosensitive spice were contained within.

"Insurance," Solo told the Wookiee, concealing the vials within an internal pocket of his old flight jacket.

["Insurance? What do you mean?"]

"If I'm going to see Gwydir," Solo explained as he re-sealed the container, "I want something to bargain with." Leaving the container out on the deck and the hidden compartment open, he stood and faced Chewbacca. "He's not gonna give me our credits just because I ask him nicely."

Chewbacca's expressive eyes glimmered with good humour. [" _You're_ going to ask him nicely?"]

Solo sighed. "No I'm not, you moron. I'm gonna tell him if he wants his spice he's gonna have to give us what he owes us."

["And this will work because…?"]

Chewbacca had used an unfamiliar grammatical pattern and Solo missed the question, frowning in response. "I don't…what?"

Chewbacca rephrased the query. ["Why do you think your threat will work?"]

The Corellian smiled thinly. "Because you'll have hidden the spice in a private storage lot while I'm bargaining with Gwydir. And you may as well get rid of the rest of the cargo. Sell it to whoever wants it at whatever price they offer. That'll teach Gwydir to cancel an import licence on us at the last moment."

Chewbacca nodded slowly, as if just realising Solo's plan. ["So, on my own, you want me to off-load one tonne of cargo—"]

"You're a strong Wookiee, you can handle it," Solo interrupted, not prepared to hear Chewbacca equate himself to a slave again.

["Sell it. Then off-load 50 kilos of spice and hide that away. All of this while you're rubbing Gwydir's nose in it. And I'm supposed to sit and wait patiently for you to return in one piece."] Chewbacca shook his head sceptically. ["You call that a plan?"]

Solo scratched the back of his neck and averted his eyes. Now that the Wookiee had laid out all the pieces, he could see a few holes appearing in his strategy.

["I take it you want to survive this?"] Chewbacca asked.

"Of course I do," Solo snarled in response.

["Then let us cut our losses, take the ship, the cargo and the spice and get the hell out of here."]

"We can't steal a ship."

["We are smuggling spice, Han. We are already criminals. What difference would it make?"]

"Gwydir's the difference. He'll report us to the TSF and we'll wind up on an Imperial watch-list as pirates. Or worse; put a bounty on our heads."

["I am not sure Gwydir would know how to place a bounty."]

"I'm _not_ stealing a ship."

["So you what are you going to do?"] Chewbacca asked impatiently. ["Do you really think Gwydir will pay you?"]

"That spice is worth close to 500,000 credits on the streets," Solo pointed out. "He won't want to lose that."

["But you are expendable."] Chewbacca scruffed a huge paw through Solo's hair. ["I do not wish to lose you, Little Brother. Not only have I got a Life Debt to repay, you have started to grow on me."]

Solo grimaced at the obvious emotion in the Wookiee's tone, uncertain he could cope with much more sentiment.

["And I have nearly got you so well-trained. I would not want to waste all that effort".]

Annoyed, the Corellian moved his head away from Chewbacca's affectionate gesture and sardonic remark.

"Look, all I'll ask for is the money that he owes us for this job. Five thousand. I won't worry about the replacement dampers. And I won't even ask for money for the spice. I'll just use it as a bargaining tool."

["Regardless, that will be the end of your contract, you realise,"] Chewbacca said.

"So what? I know that. Then we buy a couple of star-fares and get off this dirt ball."

["You think Gwydir will let us leave, just like that?"]

"The alternative is we let him get away with what he's done to us and we continue to work for him. And I ain't gonna let that happen."

["All the more reason for us to take the ship and leave."]

"Chewie!" Solo warned. "I am _not_ stealing a ship. Okay? So get that out of your thick skull."

Chewbacca stared at his young friend and made a grumbling noise in the back of his throat. He raised his eyes to the upper bulkhead, muttering in such a low voice that Solo was unable to pick up any of the words.

The Wookiee thumped a fist against the bulkhead and returned his gaze to the pilot. [Okay, Han. You go have your chat with Gwydir. I will take care of the spice. But I will not sell off the rest of his precious cargo. He cannot report us for taking his spice, but he could for the imported goods, even if they are currently unlicensed.]

Solo exhaled in relief, not realising until that moment that he'd been holding his breath. He'd thought he would've been prepared to do this without the Wookiee, but now that Chewie had agreed to the plan he felt slightly more confident that it would work.

They spent 20 minutes refining the details of the plan: sorting out which private store it would be best to re-locate the spice to; what Han should say to entice Gwydir to give him 5,000 credits in return for the location of the spice; what keywords they should use over the comlink if the plan was going well or not; and finally how they should get on the first available flight heading out of the system. Though not verbally acknowledged, there was a silent agreement between them not to discuss all the factors that could go wrong.

When it was time to leave, the Corellian was grateful that Chewbacca accompanied him to the freighter's ramp. They stopped at the main hatch and faced each other.

"Okay, partner." The new title came spontaneously from Solo. "I'll wait for your call."

Chewbacca gripped Solo's outstretched hand and pulled the young man against his chest in a brusque hug. Han resisted for a moment, his body stiff and arms stuck out acutely, before drawing his elbows in and awkwardly patting Chewbacca on the back.

["Take care of yourself, my friend."]

"Ah…sure."

Chewbacca gripped Solo's arms and forcibly pushed the human away so the Wookiee could clearly look into his face. ["No heroics this time,"] Chewbacca growled, referring to his own rescue at the hands of a young naval lieutenant. ["You understand?"]

Solo's hazel eyes stared impishly back into the blue of the Wookiee's. "Yes, Ma."

Chewbacca's hold increased and he lightly shook the Corellian. ["I am serious, Han. Make Gwydir the offer, then get out of there."]

"Okay, okay."

Chewbacca drew Solo in for another quick hug, then shepherded him down the ramp with an arm around his shoulders.

"Kest, Chewie," Solo complained as they moved down the ramp. "Are you gonna have a hot chockaff waiting for me when I return?"

Chewbacca did not miss a beat. ["Only if you are a very good boy and play nicely with the other children."]

Han smiled mischievously, stepping off the end of the ramp. "Well then, there's no hope of that."

The Wookiee sent him on his way with a swat to the seat of his pants and a tetchy, ["And do not do anything that I have to tell your father about."]


	3. Chapter 3

**A Fair Fight**

 **by CorellianBlue**

(first published 2003, revised 2015)

III

Away from the freighter, Solo stood inside the airlock between the docking bay and its main entrance. He removed the heavy blaster pistol from its holster, checking it was fully charged and the safety catch set, then spun the pistol on his index finger and returned it to the rig. Relaxing his arms by his side, he stretched his fingers above the blaster's grip then moved through the sequence of a quick-draw. He practised the motions three times before he was satisfied—the surge of muscle and tendon that drew his arm and shoulder up, positioning his hand around the blaster's grip to pull it up and clear of the holster before levelling and squeezing gently on the trigger until it caught on the safety mechanism.

Something told him that if ever he needed his speed-draw, now was that time. Not that he'd ever really used his speed-draw in the past—Imperial pilots generally preferred starship canons over small arms. He was about to extort credits from a puffed-up thug who was masquerading as a crime-boss-cum-legitimate-business-man in exchange for 50 kilograms of spice. Him—Han Solo: disgraced former lieutenant of the Imperial Navy and newly-minted smuggler. Chewie had been right to question the sanity of this plan.

 _Solo,_ he told himself as he adjusted the gun-rig across his hips, _you've got to be out of your chu'ellan mind._

But he could of no alternative to what he was about to attempt. He wasn't about to continue working for a racist employer who repeatedly took advantage of himself and Chewbacca. That reminded him too much of a career in the Navy.

Han briefly wished Chewie could be at his side for this one. He could've used the Wookiee's strength and confidence, in addition to his bowcaster. But this wasn't Chewie's fight; it was his. It was Solo who had signed the contract that had gotten them into this mess. He would have to get them out of it.

Confronting Gwydir would be difficult. Although Gwydir Imports maintained offices in the swankier part of town, its owner was an infrequent visitor. Stig Gwydir controlled his domain remotely, preferring the luxurious surrounds of the apartment he maintained on the outskirts of the sprawling city. Han had seen the apartment from a distance, but had never been inside. He suspected the security would be tight and almost impossible to penetrate. The only way would be if Gwydir invited him in or he hitched a ride with a legitimate guest. As Solo didn't believe an invitation would be readily forthcoming, that only left the guest option. Or preferably one of Gwydir's office lackeys.

Han decided a trip to the docking bay's ablutions might be a good way to start, to ensure he was as comfortable as possible and able to keep his mind on the business at hand. He ducked through a door near the docking bay's entrance, wondering if Chewie's mothering was starting to affect him. Didn't a mother always tell her children to go to the 'fresher before they left the house?

Han was washing his hands when he heard the distinct whine of a landspeeder as it pulled up in front of the docking bay. He was back inside the airlock, blaster drawn and off to one-side of the main entrance, before the speeder powered down. The docking bay was permanently leased by Gwydir's company. The only sentients who had access to it were Gwydir's staff, customs officials and the port authority.

The hatchway rolled up and a man of average build and height guided a hand-truck into the airlock. Brek Tabley, Gwydir's financial adviser, froze just as the hatch closed behind him. The last thing he had been expecting was the muzzle of a blaster pistol pressed against his cheek.

"Hold it," Solo instructed. "What are you doing here, Brek?"

Tabley blinked furiously, his eyes flicking to the pistol but never quite making it as far as the Corellian.

"I-I-I—" Tabley gulped and started again. "I d-didn't think anyone w-would be here."

Solo's smile was grim. "Well, you thought wrong, huh?"

"S-solo?" Tabley asked warily, as if suddenly recognising the voice. He turned his head just enough to identify the younger man.

"Let me guess," Solo suggested, moving around to face Tabley square on, the barrel of his blaster never straying from the other's cheek. "You figured me and Chewie would've been carted off to a detention centre by now. So you thought you'd come," he gestured with a nod towards the hand-truck, "and collect the boss's 'special' cargo?"

Tabley's face flushed with splotches of red and he shrugged apologetically. "Th-that's about it," he admitted.

"Who had our import licence cancelled?" The pilot pushed the blaster harder into Tabley's cheek-bone. "You?"

"Not me, not me!" the man squealed, pulling his hands from the truck's control yoke and raising them above his head. "That was Esk, at Mr Gwydir's insistence."

"And he did this because—?"

"Because you breached company rules," was the hurried explanation. "Mr Gwydir doesn't like upsetting the Naali or breaking their laws because it makes doing business more complicated."

"So I was a bad business risk. And Gwydir hung me up for the Naali to use as target practice."

"Yes!" Tabley agreed, a bit too emphatically. His skin tone paled completely. "You're going to kill me now," Tabley's voice rose in a whisper, "aren't you?"

Solo stared down at the pathetic creature who stood before him. Tabley was probably no more than 10 years Han's senior, but looked much older with his receding hairline and patchy beard that barely covered the lower-half of his slender jaw. He was also completely out of his depth working for a minor crime boss. Solo noticed the stream of urine as it pooled beside Tabley's boot. Han had always imagined the financial adviser was in the wrong industry, mixing it on the shady side of the street, and here was proof of that.

Solo grimaced and shook his head, pulling the blaster back from Tabley's cheek. "I'm not gonna kill you, Brek," he assured him. Tabley nearly fell over in relief, until Solo added "At least not now."

Tabley complied with the instruction to lower his arms.

"That a company speeder out front?" Solo asked casually.

Tabley gave a wary, "Yes. I needed it to collect the spice."

Solo's eyes lit up. "And where were you taking it after that?"

"Delivering it to Mr Gwydir."

"In his apartment?"

"Yes."

"And he knows you're coming? Expecting you?"

"Yes."

Solo allowed himself a small grin. "You have access to the apartment?"

"Some, yes. I'm restricted from the more formal areas and the sleeping quarters."

Han had to restrain himself from punching the air in delight.

"You and me," Solo used the blaster's muzzle to indicate Tabley and himself, "are gonna head out to see Mr Gwydir."

"Without the spice?" Tabley protested. "I can't do that. Mr Gwydir will kill me."

"If you don't do it," Solo warned, " _I'll_ kill you." He smiled maliciously. "Or worse."

"W-worse?" Tabley stammered.

Solo looked down at the urine still dribbling from the hem of Tabley's trousers. The older man followed his gaze and more than understood what Solo was getting at.

The Corellian reached forward and swiped the comlink from Tabley's belt. "Clean yourself up, Brek" he ordered, motioning towards the ablutions with a tilt of his head. "We're going for a drive."


	4. Chapter 4

**A Fair Fight**

 **by CorellianBlue**

(first published 2003, revised 2015)

IV

By the time they reached the outskirts of the city, the stale urine combined with the high humidity had resulted in a stench that was almost over-powering. Brek had not done a very good job of removing the stain or smell from his trousers. Solo suspected Tabley probably hadn't tried at all, either too shocked or scared to do much more than relieve himself into the refresher stall.

It had taken nearly an hour of driving, squeezing through streets congested with traffic and pedestrians, to arrive at the building where Gwydir's apartment was located. The building was tall and sleek compared to its squatter, misshapen neighbours. It reached towards the sky like a glassine sceptre with Gwydir perched in the penthouse at its peak. Han doubted that any of the locals lived in this building. The architecture reeked of the design used throughout Imperial City and suggested it was the residence of a social caste to which that the average Naalii could never aspire.

At Solo's instruction, Brek pulled the speeder into a designated bay across the street from the building. The air was heavy with heat and moisture, and Solo's shirt stuck to his chest and back. The weight of his flight jacket was oppressive, but as it kept the vials of glitterstim spice hidden, he was prepared to endure it.

"I brought you here like you asked." It must have taken great effort for Brek to sound cheerful. "Can I go now?"

Solo made a _tsking_ noise out the corner of his mouth. "No." The pilot craned his neck back to look up at the height of the apartment complex. "I told you. I want to get in to see Gwydir. And you're my access card."

The comlink in Solo's pocket trilled once and he moved it to his mouth. "Solo."

He listened as Chewbacca reported in the location of the spice using the pre-arranged codewords. ["Consignment secure."]

"I've just arrived at grandma's house," the Corellian responded, ignoring the strange look he received from Tabley. "I'll give her your love."

["And an extra kiss as well."]

Solo repressed a chuckle. That hadn't been one of the codes they'd agreed to use; the Wookiee was ad-libbing. "Will do. You stay sharp."

["Be home in time for supper."]

Solo shook his head and clicked off the link. The Wookiee was a smart-ass.

Eager to get away from the humidity and head inside to a controlled environment, Solo asked Brek to briefly explain the layout of the automated security systems and exactly how they should make their way to Gwydir's apartment without attracting unnecessary attention. Tabley spoke confidently and matter-of-factly. He seemed to know what he was talking about. Han assessed that they could probably make it right into Gwydir's residence before they were likely to be challenged. But just in case they were observed on the security monitors, he decided they'd load the hand-truck up with empty stasis containers from the speeder's rear and at least pretend they were delivering the spice. It might keep off any questions for a while.

Giving Tabley the responsibility for pushing the hand-truck along on its repulsor-field gave the financial adviser something to concentrate on apart from worry about what his boss might do to him. Solo followed Tabley, slightly behind and off to one side, his demeanour composed but wary.

They crossed the street, manoeuvred the hand-truck up the gently sloping entry ramp, and passed through the building's main entrance into an empty and rather non-descript lobby. Tabley pressed his finger against the security system's scanner and proxed his access card against a reader. An elaborate series of glassine doors parted and they moved further into the building. There was a similar set of security controls to enter the turbo-lift, and then they were riding up to Gwydir's apartment on the forty-second level.

"Forty-two?" Solo muttered to himself as he watched the number display—in Basic and Naalii numerals—change as the lift passed each level. It seemed an unusual number of floors to have in a building.

"Superstition," Tabley clarified. "Forty-two is a lucky number for the Naalii."

Solo wrinkled up his nose at the explanation, vaguely curious as to why a building was constructed to satisfy Naalii custom when the Naalii would never live in it. But that seemed to be the way of the galaxy.

Gwydir's penthouse occupied the whole of the building's highest level, so the turbo-lift came to a halt it within the stark foyer leading to the apartment. The cold, white floors and ceiling were far from inviting, reminding Solo more of the headquarters of an office complex as opposed to a place where somebody lived.

Tabley was required to verify his fingerprint and access card against two additional security controls. A pair of beautiful doors crafted from local wood slid apart to reveal the entrance hall to Gwydir's apartment and a large piece of artwork that dominated one wall. Much to Tabley's concern, Solo drew his weapon and prodded the older man between the shoulder blades to nudge him into the entrance hall.

"Quietly," Solo told him in a hushed voice. "And leave the truck."

They stepped forward, the hand-truck now abandoned. Solo took fleeting looks down the two curved passageways which lead from the hall, checking for the presence of others and trying to determine which way he was more likely to find Gwydir. He glanced at the painting that was the focal point of the foyer, the bright colours and juvenile technique only momentarily attracting his attention until he read the inscription underneath: 'My Daddy by Talia Gwydir.' He took a step back and studied the painting, now discerning the childish shape of a person with a halo of blue hair, purple eyes and a wide, smiling face.

Tabley noticed Solo's distraction. "Talia, Mr Gwydir's daughter, painted that for him."

Han knew that Gwydir had a child. A few from what he'd picked up from other the other pilots who worked for Gwydir. There were two sons and a daughter around Han's age who all lived with an ex-wife on some other planet. And there was a young girl, about four or five, the daughter Gwydir had had with his current wife, Willa. Willa was an attractive woman, perhaps only a few years older than Han and about half the age of her husband. He wondered if Willa and Talia would also be here, or if Gwydir preferred to take receipt of illicit substances with his family safely out of the way.

Solo turned to Brek, his mouth open, a question poised on his tongue, when the distant sound of laughter, music and childish squeals answered his query. "Shit."

"It's Talia's birthday today," Tabley offered. "She must be having a party." The glare from Solo was totally unexpected. "What?"

Solo dug his weapon hard into the back of Tabley's neck. "Just shut up and do as you're told." Placing his other hand on Tabley's shoulder, Solo pushed him in the direction of the noise.

From what he could see as they moved along the corridor, the apartment's décor was stylish but unpretentious and comfortable. Solo found himself genuinely surprised. Most walls were a simple off-white colour, which allowed the artwork hanging from them to feature on their own. Depending on the function of the different rooms, the floors were either covered in highly-polished tiles or plush carpeting.

The music was bright and painfully boppy, and increased in volume as the corridor opened out into an informal living area. Solo noticed the ribbons and balloons decorating the walls and ceilings. On a low table there appeared to be opened presents—furry toys, dolls, lacy clothing, imitation jewellery—gifts for the birthday-girl which had been unwrapped with childish zeal. Brek had been right.

"Shit."

"They're outside," Tabley pointed out, indicating the broad expanse of balcony that encircled the apartment.

Solo guided Tabley towards the doorway from which a small set of steps led down to the balcony. From their vantage point, Han noted that the balcony was effectively a number of rooms covered by a transparent shield that could be retracted in segments. An oval-shaped pool immediately to the left attracted his attention next, partly due to of the yells and screams of delight from five young children as they splashed around in the water, but also because the children were being watched by four striking women in scanty swimming wear. Solo recognised Gwydir's wife, Willa, but the other three women were unknown to him.

Further on from the pool there was a rectangular green slab with white markings on its surface, screened off from the pool and the balcony by a box of transparisteel — a sports court, Han supposed.

There also appeared to be an access way which led to a large set of transparisteel doors and then onto to a vacant landing platform outside and inside to hidden hangars.

Solo honed in on the location of his employer, Stig Gwydir. Gwydir lounged on a deck area located up above the pool and the games court, lording it over his domain like a minor noble. Beard hiding a puffy face and stomach spilling over the top of his belt, the middle-aged Corellian sported the thick, pepper-coloured mane of a man pretending to be younger than he was. It was apparent he was enjoying the company of eight other men as they chatted, joked and drank from a range of tumblers, bottles and flasks. Solo was familiar with a few of Gwydir's guests as they were the higher-ranked executives who worked at Gwydir Imports. The two largest men formed part of Gwydir's personal security detail, and sitting next to Gwydir was Fu'aad Reverz, Gwydir's gaunt-face confidant and minder.

Tabley stumbled as Solo propelled him down the steps, the movement drawing the attention of the men and three of the women. Reverz and the guards rose from their seats, their hands moving towards holstered blasters before Gwydir calmly requested they return to their places.

Solo grit his teeth as he pushed Tabley onwards, one finger quivering on the blaster's trigger while another brushed impatiently against the weapon's safety catch. He pulled Brek to a stop a few metres in front of the semi-circle of men, checking both their faces and hands for any indication they might unexpectedly launch themselves at him. They all seemed rather surprised by Han's unexpected appearance.

Gwydir sipped at the contents of a tumbler, then placed it on a small table. His eyes twitched for a moment, a sign of either apprehension or annoyance. He glanced at the lean form of Reverz beside him, shared a knowing smile, then turned back to the young pilot.

"Han-boy." Gwydir's condescending tone grated on Solo more than it usually did. "Welcome to my humble home." He nodded in the direction of the pool where the women were attempting to coax the children from the water in soothing voices. "I would greatly appreciate if you would put away your weapon. We all know you're not going to kill anyone. And you may as well let Brek go."

Solo hesitated, trying to gauge how much of a 'happy families' scene this was as opposed to a gathering of felons. The bright decorations continued out here on the balcony and the children's laughter with no concern as they chased each from the pool. Solo was convinced what to do. He removed the blaster from Tabley's neck and slid it into its holster. Now free, Brek took off back into the living areas perhaps faster than he'd ever moved in his life.

Gwydir considered his younger compatriot for a moment, then beckoned his wife up onto the deck. Han caught only a few words of the conversation, but gathered the gist when she quickly collected the children and the other women and headed inside.

Gwydir took a mouthful of his drink and the other men relaxed back into their conform chairs, all of them casually watching the pilot. Han tried not to squirm.

Gwydir was the first to break the silence. "How did you get away from the Naalii, Han-boy? Or is that another mess you've made that I now have to fix?"

Solo pulled a face. "We paid them off. No thanks to you."

"You're right there," Gwydir agreed. "No thanks to me. But I was only teaching you a lesson."

"The only reason I needed a lesson," Solo seethed, "was because the chronos on the navcomp are out of sync. Not to mention the inertial dampers I had to replace. That bucket you gave us is a death-trap."

"You seemed a tad annoyed, my young friend," Gwydir observed. "Come, have a seat, a drink and we can talk—"

"I'm through talking with you, Gwydir. That's not why I'm here."

The elder man's mouth contracted into a half-smile. "So tell me why you are."

The security guards drew their blasters again as Solo reached inside his jacket. Reverz only leaned forward slightly. Unperturbed, Solo removed the vials of glitterstim and held them up for the older Corellian to see. "I have something of yours that I'm sure you'll want back."

Gwydir's larynx bobbed in his throat and he motioned for his men to lower their weapons. "The shipment is intact?"

"The whole lot." Solo's eyebrows rose meaningfully. "Including that other crap you made us haul."

"How much did the bribes cost?" Gwydir obviously knew how the Tuusaan'aran Customs would react to Solo's breaches.

"Uh-uh. You're not getting out of it that easy. The way I figure it, you owe Chewie and me for the bribes, the repairs _and_ the run."

"How much?" Gwydir tersely demanded.

Han exaggerated the cost of up the bribes—including the nigari—to an even 4,000 credits; another 2,500 for the dampers; plus 5,000 for the smuggling run. "Fifteen thousand." The figure was three times more than what he'd told Chewbacca he'd ask for.

"Fifteen thousand?" Gwydir snorted into his glass and drained the alcohol. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

"I'm the guy with your spice," Solo reminded him. "Five hundred thousand credits' worth, from my estimates."

"You little turd," someone muttered, momentarily diverting Han's attention. The sound of a repressed snigger from Reverz brought Solo's eyes back to his employer.

Gwydir sighed heavily through his nose. "Help me through this one, Han. Why should I give you 15,000 credits for something that already belongs to me? Why shouldn't I just get Fu'aad to shoot you now?"

"Because my partner's got _your_ spice nicely hidden away. And without me, you'll never know where that is."

"Your 'partner'?" Gwydir scoffed. "You mean that Wookiee?"

Solo's pleasant smile was infuriating. But Gwydir wasn't easily persuaded or deterred.

"Let's say I temporarily go insane and agree to your demand? What happens then?" Gwydir let the question hang in the room for some time before he added, "Have you forgotten you signed a contract to work for me? I _own_ you, boy. You'd have to pay _me_ out to leave." He nodded thoughtfully to himself. "And I believe 15,000 credits would do just nicely. So I suggest you tell me where the spice is and then walk out of here before you do something else stupid."

They had reached an impasse. Solo had made his offer and it hadn't been accepted. He furtively wondered how he might be able to turn this around, or at least save some face and make it out of the building while he still could. Not that he was certain he could get back through the security controls without Tabley's help, and Tabley was most likely half-way to the central business district by now. So he hooked his thumb in the top of his gun-rig and coolly stood there, hoping for some type of superior inspiration that might tell him what to do next.

Fu'aad Reverz slowly rubbed a hand across his mouth, his fingers crackling against the stubble on his chin as he watched the young Corellian with interest. He leaned across towards Gwydir and quietly conferred with him. The smile returned to Gwydir's face with every word from Reverz, and his eyes glimmered. Solo suspected he should probably be nervous.

"Fu'aad has proposed a far more novel solution that I'm certain you'll appreciate," Gwydir told Solo. "I'd like to see you face Fu'aad in a duel of blasters."

The frown across Solo's face caused Reverz, "Speed-draw contest "If you win," Gwydir continued, "you provide me with the location of the consignment and I'll give you 5,000 credits and suspend your contract. You lose," he shrugged almost apologetically, "and well, you lose." His grin soured. "Then I'll hunt down your Wookiee, torture it until it reveals the location of the spice, and sell it to the Imps as a slave. How does that sound to you as a deal?"

It sounded about as bad as Solo could've hoped for. But he would happily back himself against Fu'aad Reverz in a duel where victory would go to the one with the faster speed-draw. Reverz may have been Gwydir's minder and supervisor of the security detail, and he may have worn a holstered blaster, but Solo had never seen him quickly draw a weapon during the past three months that he'd been employed with Gwydir. Besides, his hair was grey-white, his face weathered and creased, and he was old, even older than Gwydir. The young Corellian was confidant this was a challenge he would win. Even if it would be the first duel he'd ever contested, apart from the mock ones he'd staged within a firing range.

"Fifteen thousand."

Gwydir's eyes widened slightly at the unexpected impudence. But then he obviously wanted to see this contest because the older Corellian followed with another offer. "Ten."

"Fifteen," Solo pressed.

"Ten." The word was spoken with cold finality.

"Okay," Solo agreed. Then something occurred to him. "How do I know you'll stick to your end of the bargain?"

"I could ask the same about you, assuming you survive." Gwydir touched a spot on his chest above his heart, then extended his hand towards Solo in a traditional Corellian gesture. "You have my oath as a Corellian."

Solo rolled his eyes. "That's about as good as mine."

"Perhaps a hand-shake then? As honourable men."

The sincerity in Gwydir's voice and eyes was perhaps not as convincing as Han's desire to find a solution to this mess. There was the given: Solo beat Reverz in the duel — _killed_ Reverz, he reminded himself. And then Gwydir either gave him the credits or he didn't. If he did, then Han would provide him with the location of the spice and he and Chewbacca would ditch this dirt-ball planet.

But if Gwydir didn't hand-over the credits…

Han's thoughts turned to his partner. He needed to give his friend a heads-up that things were not turning out as well as they had hoped and that the Wookiee should start making plans for getting out of the system, even if that meant on his own.

"Okay."

For the first time since Solo had appeared, Gwydir rose from his conform chair, hand out-stretched towards Han. The younger man closed the distance between them and grabbed Gwydir's hand. Gwydir's grip was warm and solid, and he fairly beamed at Solo just as he had when Han had signed his contract.

"Good boy," Gwydir told him, firmly patting Solo's cheek with his other hand. "Good negotiation skills. You're improving"

Han grimaced at the overly friendly response. He passed the glitterstim to Gwydir, taking the opportunity to end the hand-shake and step away from the older man.

"I want to call my partner," Solo explained as he brought his comlink up to his mouth. "Tell him I'm fine so he doesn't do something crazy like dump the spice."

Gwydir made an accommodating motion with his hand. "We wouldn't want that."

The Wookiee answered before the first tone had sounded. "Chewie? Han." It was not the way they had agreed to initiate a call and the Wookiee was silent in reply. "Gwydir's on the level and is happy to go with what we want." Solo's gaze travelled warily across the group of men as he spoke to his partner. "We've got some business to take care of first," His eyes came to rest on Reverz. "Then we'll give him the goods. Okay?"

Apart from the noise of distant engines in the background, the comlink remained silent.

"Do you understand me, Chewie? Credits. Business. Goods." The young Corellian returned Reverz's solemn stare. He was about to kill this man. "Copy?"

["Understood,"] came the terse response. ["Out."] The channel cut out before Han could say anything more. Chewie was pissed about something.

Han didn't have the time or energy to worry about his partner's emotional well-being. He focused on what would happen in the next few minutes, the reality of killing another sentient. He was not unfamiliar with either the concept or reality of death, including by his own hand. As a boy of 12, he had witnessed the very public assassination of his free-trading father by prospective clients. The murder had seen him vow to never come second in a contest that depended on the draw of a weapon.

It wasn't until Solo became an Imperial pilot that he had taken a life. He had fired on and destroyed vessels from the safety of a Navy starfighter. There had been anonymity in those killings. He had never witnessed the deaths of the sentients he had killed, only the destruction of freighters and yachts. And besides which, his targets had been criminals, mercenaries and rebels; he had been judge, jury and executioner working on behalf of the Empire.

Facing Reverz in a duel would be different. For the first time, Han would see the bolt from his blaster slam into living human flesh. He would see the face of a dying man. The face of a man he had killed. And he was entirely certain he would kill Reverz. Solo distantly wondered if there was a way he might be able to wound and incapacitate Reverz instead of killing him.

With a refined elegance, Reverz slowly approached the young Corellian, his grey eyes never straying from Solo's. Slipping the comlink back inside his jacket, Han's posture straightened, his shoulders unconsciously tensing as he pulled back from Reverz. Solo watched as the elder man's gaze slid down to the blaster weighting his side and he refrained the urge to draw it from the holster.

"DL-44," Reverz remarked, referring to the heavy blaster pistol, an almost kindly smile settling across his face. He stared at Han, his head tilting inquisitively to the side. "What demons are in your head, boy that make you feel you need that kind of firepower?"

Solo's mouth twitched into a grimace. "You'll find out soon enough."

Reverz chuckled appreciatively. "I will, will I?"

Solo caught the slight nod of Reverz's head, but was unsure of its meaning until he felt his arms pulled roughly behind his back and two legs snake around his own, pinning him against the burly security guards. The pilot's instinctive struggle to free himself was ineffectual compared to the guards' combined strength. With their legs trapping his own, Solo couldn't even use his captors as a leverage point to pull his legs up in a kicking motion. Then one of the guards drew Solo's arm further up his back, causing him to gasp in pain, and he ceased fighting in response to an entreaty from Reverz.

"That's better," Reverz soothed.

 _Better?_ Solo thought sullenly, furious with himself for concentrating too much on Reverz and not noticing the guards had manoeuvred themselves behind him. He had a lot to learn if he was going to continue dealing with the likes of Gwydir and his men.

Han watched uneasily as Reverz removed the heavy blaster pistol from Solo's holster, brought it up to his eyes to inspect it closely. He held it tenderly in one hand while the fingers of the other caressed the black metal casing, running across the scope and down the muzzle, rubbing curiously at the filed down aiming sight, lightly brushing the flash suppressor before moving back up to the blaster's grip.

"Nice," Reverz observed quietly to himself. "Very nice."

His hold on the blaster strengthened as he measured the weight and balance of the weapon, then he sighted through the blaster's scope, aiming directly into Solo's face. The Corellian's breath caught in his throat, but he refused to flinch, instead staring back at Reverz with unwavering arrogance.

Reverz smiled knowingly and averted the weapon. "Very nice indeed, Solo."

In one smooth motion, Reverz reached forward and removed the blaster power cell from Han's belt. Solo felt the colour bleed from his face as Reverz used the power cell to drain the charge from the blaster.

"Don't worry, boy," Reverz tucked the power cell into a jacket pocket. "There's at least one good shot left in her. If you're as good as you think you are, that's all you'll need."

Reverz's words suggested the duel would still proceed and Solo's confidence kicked back in. "That's all I need."

Reverz chuckled. "I'm sure it is." He glanced over his shoulder at Gwydir to bring him in on the joke. "And where were you thinking of hitting me with that shot? Here?"

The blow was so violent and unexpected that it took Han some moments to realise Reverz had slammed the butt of the blaster into his stomach. The breath in his lungs whooshed out and a rush of bile threatened to follow. He stifled a whimper against the bruising, but couldn't help from sagging slightly in the arms of the guards.

"What about here?"

Reverz raised the blaster and punched it higher into Solo's chest, impacting the bones between his heart and diaphragm. Han felt a rib fracture, and sucked his breath inward in an aching groan. His legs trembled and he slumped forward, his head dropping to his chest as he struggled to overcome the burning pain.

Reverz's next question seemed to come from a great distance. "Or here?"

The blaster sailed upwards, slamming into Solo's jaw and forcing his head back as it caught on the corner of his mouth.

The combined blows had stunned the young pilot, but Gwydir's men did not allow him to fall. A white-hot noise rushed in Solo's ears and blurred his vision. His senses were aflame with agony, licking at his consciousness and threatening to drag him into oblivion. As tempting as it was to succumb to the dark, Solo fought against it, concentrating on the metallic taste of blood on his tongue and channelling his pain into a reason to continue. He needed to believe the duel would still go ahead. This was just Reverz's attempt to soften him up. Han decided then that he was no longer concerned with simply incapacitating Reverz. Given half a chance, and that was all he needed, Solo would shoot to kill.

Mocking laughter echoed through his haze, and Solo focused on the source, using it to pull himself together. Gwydir's guests were enjoying the party again.

The shock of water suddenly drenching his hair and face jerked Han upright. Despite himself, Solo gasped in surprise, watching as Reverz returned a now-empty jug to a nearby table.

"Feeling better?" Reverz asked, a note of concern in his voice.

Annoyed at wearing some of the water, the guards adjusted their grip on the Corellian. Solo slowly shook his head in an attempt to remove the excess water, but it only served to anger the guards as it splashed over them. In retribution, they tugged Solo's arms further up his back.

"You've got a lot to learn, boy," Reverz told him, handing Han's blaster over to Gwydir. "I've heard you're pretty good with a blaster. My men have watched you practice that speed-draw of yours. They tell me it's quite impressive. For a pilot."

Solo tried to return the elder man's gaze, but was forced to blink away the water as it dribbled from his hair into his eyes.

"The one thing you need to know about me, Han," Reverz advised, moving back towards the Corellian, "is that I like to win. And I always win."

Solo refused to move as Reverz reached forward and compassionately pushed the sodden hair from Han's forehead.

"The only unfair fight is the one you lose." Reverz stared at him firmly. "Now give me your right hand."

The demand galvanised Solo's remaining strength and he refused to comply, keeping his arms wedged behind himself. Then one guard placed a choking hold around Solo's throat while the other dragged his arm from behind his back and moved it toward Reverz. Han instinctively curled his fingers into a fist.

"Don't fight me," Reverz warned, clasping onto Han's wrist. "Or I'll hurt you more than is needed. Relax your hand."

"Chu'ell va!" Han snarled, wrestling against the hold of the two guards while trying to pull his hand from Reverz's grip.

Reverz aimed a sharp jab to the place on Solo's chest he had hit before and the pilot cried out. Too late, Han realised his hand had uncramped and Reverz now had a solid hold on his three middle fingers. He felt a slight tug as Reverz pulled and twisted his fingers forward, then wrenched them up and back in a well-practised movement. There was a sickening crack and Han's fingers snapped cleanly.

The pain came a moment later, a bone-deep throbbing that radiated through his fingers, into his hand and up his arm. His mouth dropped open in agony, but he made no sound. It was all he could do to keep upright and breathing.

Still holding onto Solo's wrist, Reverz collected the blaster from Gwydir and pressed it into the younger man's palm. Unable to close his broken fingers around the blaster's grip, the weapon clattered to the floor. With a self-satisfied smile, Reverz instructed the guards to release the Corellian. Han staggered as they let his arms and legs go. Wavering unsteadily on his feet, he cradled his hand against his body and attempted to regulate his breathing. There was nothing he could do to combat the pain, so he tried blinking it away with the water.

Solo didn't realise Reverz had retrieved the blaster and jammed it back into his holster until the rough movement pushed at his thigh.

"I'm ready," Reverz stated. "How about you, Han?"

The pain was unbearable. Han was unable to speak, almost unable to think clearly. He closed his eyes in attempt to centre himself, to ignore the excruciating pulse in his fingers. The bruising to his stomach, ribs and jaw paled in comparison.

Concentrating on his breathing again, Han somehow found the ability to open his eyes. He knew there was no other way out of this mess he had talked himself into. He had agreed to the duel. He would have to go through with it. Reverz had simply evened the odds.

Oblivious to the leering stares from Gwydir, Reverz and the other men, Han gingerly moved his hand across to his holster. The pain increased as he angled his fingers down towards the blaster's grip. Using his thumb and unbroken smallest finger, he hooked the blaster into his palm and slowly withdrew it from the holster. But his hold was clumsy and the blaster teetered as he pulled it upwards, threatening to crash to the floor. Instinctively, his three broken fingers curled against the blaster to stop it from falling. He could not stop the involuntary cry which tore from his throat. The blaster sank impotently back into its holster.

"That's another lesson you've learnt today, Han-boy," Gwydir told him. "Don't mess with my man Fu'aad."

Reverz made an abashed gesture with his hands. "You're too kind, Stig."

"And school's not over yet." The elder Corellian gestured to the sports court below. "Get him down there."

The guards harshly grabbed Han again and manhandled him down a flight of steps towards the sports court, uncaring of what the jostling did to the young man's injuries. Reverz followed, while Gwydir and the other five men remained up on the deck, leaning against a railing to take in the unimpeded view.

At Han's approach a hatchway slid open in the transparisteel box that housed the sports court. The guards pushed him through the hatch and at Reverz's request, they left the two men alone, sealing the entrance behind.

The pulse beat loudly in Solo's ears, swamping the noise from his various injuries. He still felt unsteady on his feet, the muscles in his thighs quivering as a rush of adrenalin surged through his system. He knew that had to get in the right frame of mind if he was going to have any chance of survival.

For the first time, Solo studied the weapon Fu'aad Reverz wore on his hip. The pistol was a modified version of the Bryar rifle, with the rifle's stock and muzzle sawn off. Han knew it had a reputation for its accuracy and for causing horrific injuries when the aim was slightly off. _Great._

"The rules," Reverz explained with great delight, "if there are any, are simple. One man at each end of the court. The first to shoot and kill the other, wins." He grinned at Han and asked congenially, "Which end do you want?"

Han stared at him uncomprehendingly.

"You're the guest here," Reverz indicated the court with an elaborate sweep of his hand, "you get to pick which end you want."

Han remained silent. He was uncertain he had the strength to talk so he doubted he could walk to the other end of the court. It was possible the other man knew this was the case.

"Okay," Reverz nodded. "I'll take the other end, shall I?" He smiled again before turning and heading off down the court, calling out over his shoulder, "And no taking a pot-shot at me until I'm at the other end."

 _No fear of that,_ Han thought as he tried to collect himself. He needed and used every second of the time that it took Reverz to the length of the court. Solo took a moment to wipe the blood from the stinging cut at the corner of his mouth. Then, as the elder stopped and turned, Solo reached towards his holster's tie down strap and popped it from his thigh.

At the other end of the court, Reverz checked his hand as it moved towards his blaster, realising the young Corellian had not yet gone for his weapon. Reverz watched inquisitively as Solo tugged at the gun-rig with his left hand, slipping it around his hips until the holster came to rest on his left thigh, the blaster's hand-grip facing forward. Slowly, and a bit clumsily, Solo raised the weapon and turned it around in the holster so he could withdraw and aim it at Reverz. He blew a short breath out through his lips and stretched the fingers of his good hand above the blaster.

Reverz allowed the moment to draw out longer than was necessary, taking advantage of the stress of anticipation and the fear that was coursing through the young Corellian.

"Ready?" he asked pleasantly.

The bolt from Solo's blaster exploded into Reverz's chest before the elder man knew what had hit him. He wasn't quite dead when he crashed into the court's hard surface, but he was when another blast tore into his skull.

Han Solo spun the pistol on the trigger finger of his left hand, more considered than he might have with his right, and returned it to the holster.

"Ready," he agreed.

With a sense of righteousness, Han strode down the court to retrieve his power cell from the dead man's jacket. He stared impassively down at the unmoving body of Fu'aad Reverz. Solo's first shot—the one fuelled by adrenalin and instinct—would have been enough; Reverz's chest was a fused mess of flesh, bone and what was left of his internal organs. The second shot—the one that had taken off the top of Reverz's head—had been fired out of pure hatred. But now, even that emotion was gone. Solo was uncertain he felt satisfied. Vindicated, perhaps, yet the aching throb of his broken fingers seemed more intense.

Solo found the power cell untouched in the remains of Reverz's jacket, and it was with some difficulty that he exchanged it, one-handed, for the now-empty cell in his blaster. Two shots were all he'd had left.

Turning from the body, Solo didn't holster his weapon. He looked up at Stig Gwydir perched high on the deck. Gwydir's eyes were wide and reproachful. The guards had returned to Gwydir's side, not bothering to conceal their fury over the death of Reverz, but most of Gwydir's senior execs had left. The others seemed less sure of themselves and had moved away from the balustrade.

Blaster drawn, Solo strode across the court like a man possessed, the debilitating pain of his injuries now forgotten. The hatch opened and he passed through it, stopping just on the other side so he could comfortably keep his employer in view.

"Ten thousand," Solo called to Gwydir.

Gwydir's mouth screwed up in contemplation. Then he nodded slowly in agreement and started down the flight of stairs, guards in tow with their weapons drawn. Solo waited for Gwydir where he'd stopped, out in the open, the barrel of his blaster tracking every movement of the elder Corellian. By the time Gwydir reached the bottom of the stairs, the older man's face was a pastiche of pleasantness.

"No weapons," Gwydir reminded Solo. "This is my home."

Han's smile held no joy. "You should've thought of that before Fu'aad to try to kill me."

Gwydir scowled at him in reply while the guards tightened their grips on their blasters and motioned threateningly with them. Gwydir's gaze moved briefly from Solo to the crumpled remains of his minder and he pointed dismissively in the general direction of Reverz's body.

"Get rid of that," he instructed the guards. "I don't want my girl seeing it.

Solo grimaced at the man's duplicity, ignoring the guards' sneers as they moved cautiously around him into the sports court.

"Let's talk, Solo." Gwydir was using used Han's surname for the first time and the younger man had not missed the distinctive change in tone.

Han momentarily lost focus as he tried to find a more comfortable way to hold his broken fingers and to ease the glass-sharp twinge emanating from his ribs. Gwydir used the opportunity to edge closer towards him.

"We talked before." Han winced, then used the muzzle of his blaster to emphasise his next words. "Now _you_ give me ten grand, and _I'll_ tell you where your spice is."

Gwydir tried a disarming smile. "I'd like to offer you something more. Something more befitting what you deserve.

"I'm not interested."

"But you're too valuable to lose," Gwydir appealed. "I realise that now. I was a fool to think otherwise. Not only are you an extremely reliable pilot, you've proven yourself against Fu'aad."

Out the corner of his eye, Solo saw that the guards had collected Reverz and were now heading across the court. Looks of revulsion smeared their rough faces as they carried the mangled body between them through the hatchway like a sack of tubers. Solo returned his concentration to Gwydir.

"I'm not interested, Gwydir," Solo growled, his voice rising as the ache in his fingers increased.

"We could amend your contract and you could take over from Fu'aad. Be my right-hand man. I'll triple your wages. Even throw in something extra for your Wook—"

Gwydir's appeal ceased mid-sentence as Solo brought up his blaster and pointed it at Gwydir's temple.

Solo told him evenly, "Just give me the fucking credits."

The guards froze, uncertain whether to drop the body and go for their weapons in Gwydir's defence. But the elder Corellian was supremely confident.

"If you want your payment, you won't shoot me," Gwydir taunted.

The bloodied corner of Solo's mouth twitched into an ugly grin. "You're right."

Before Gwydir could register what was happening, Solo had shifted his aim and squeezed off two shots at the guards. The large men dropped to the floor, hitting it only marginally before the body of Reverz did.

The blaster returned to Gwydir's head and Solo stared at him meaningfully. "But there's a whole lot of others I can shoot."

Amid a clamour of alarmed voices, furniture being hurled aside and panicked footsteps, the men who had remained on the deck disappeared as quickly as Brek Tabley had. In virtually no time, Solo figured he had cleared out the party-makers from the apartment. And apart from Gwydir and himself, that meant that only two others were left—Gwydir's wife and daughter. There was no need for Solo to further explain his threat.

An angry tide of blood flushed Gwydir's face. "Va chu'ellan, t'la nisave."

Solo's blaster did not stray from Gwydir's temple. "Tell Willa to bring out the credits." He knew that a man like Gwydir would have that sort of money readily available. "Now."

Gwydir launched a barrage of the most offensive low Corelli Han had ever heard. Solo waited until the torrent had finished before instructing, "Do it now."

The glare he received from Gwydir was deadly, yet silent. Solo could practically see the data-packets streaming through Gwydir's mind.

"What about my spice?" Gwydir demanded.

The sudden blast of cannon fire tearing apart transparisteel sent them both diving to the floor. Gwydir cowered, doing what he could to protect his head beneath his arms. Han at least had the sense to maintain his blaster's aim at Gwydir, cursing the tenderness it caused him to hit the deck.

Despite the pain, Solo recovered first, raising his head as he heard the familiar whine of a G-25 freighter settling onto the external landing platform. He would have known the thumping of those engines anywhere.

 _That damn Wookiee!_ Solo didn't know whether to be furious that Chewbacca had totally disregarded the plan they had agreed to, or grateful that his requests for divine inspiration had landed a Wookiee at his feet. And knowing this particular Wookiee, Solo suspected the spice would still be onboard.

Solo lurched upright, his face contorted with agony and fury. With his left hand still clutching the blaster, he used it to jerk Gwydir to his feet. They stared at the remnants of the transparisteel doors which had led outside to the landing platform. Only crazed shards of transparisteel remained. Solo realised how accurate the shot had been. Once the doors had been destroyed, the cannon fire had deflected down into the concealed hangars, taking out a few craft housed within. If the blast hadn't been aimed so carefully, it might have slammed into the apartment's living areas.

"My partner," Solo explained in response to the dumbfounded look on Gwydir's face. As if on cue, the freighter's hatchway rolled up and Chewbacca appeared on the ramp, bowcaster drawn and pushing a laden hand-truck in front of him. Solo guessed that Chewbacca had never intended securing the spice in a private locker. "Your spice."

Above the thudding idle of the freighter's engines, Willa's voice unexpectedly called out, "Stig?"

Han and Gwydir turned around and looked up at the top of the stairs where Willa now stood. She had covered herself in a simple white robe which made her seem small and frail. Eyes wide and uncomprehending of the destruction before her, her face pale and drawn with fright, she clutched the balustrade in a white-knuckled grip.

"W-what's ha—" Her voice gave out as she realised the young pilot had a blaster aimed at her husband's head and that they stood near the bodies of three other men.

"It's okay, babe," Gwydir called up to her soothingly. "Go back inside and keep—"

Solo prodded the muzzle of the blaster into Gwydir's temple as a reminder. "The credits."

Gwydir glared at him, then curbed the anger in his eyes as his gaze returned to his wife. "Babe, I need ten thousand credits. Can you get that for me?"

Willa stared down at Gwydir, her face uncertain. Hesitantly, she moved her head in agreement.

"Good girl," Gwydir encouraged, and her head bobbed again. "Get it from the security locker in our room."

Willa hurried back inside.

"Good girl," Gwydir muttered.

Gwydir scowled again and swore when Solo pushed the blaster against the back of his head.

"Let's go check out your shipment," Solo told him.

They met Chewbacca just inside the access way that led to the landing platform. The Wookiee was quick to recognise the bodies of Reverz and the guards, and the injuries Solo had sustained, particularly the bruising and swelling that marked the fingers of his right hand.

["Are you okay?"]

Solo grimaced. "I'll be better once we're outta here."

Chewbacca chuckled and asked, [So _now_ you want to steal Gwydir's ship?]

Han looked at Gwydir significantly, aware the man could not understand the Shri-Wook side of the conversation. "He owes it to me."

"What do I owe you?" Gwydir asked suspiciously.

"I'll tell you later." Solo tilted his head to indicate the stasis containers on the hand-truck. "You wanna take a look? Just to make sure it's all there. I don't want it said that Han Solo reneges on a deal."

Gwydir moved cautiously away from the pilot, tentative lest he wear a laser blast to the back of his head. Chewbacca stood back slightly, keeping Gwydir within the arc of his bowcaster but allowing the man to feel unimpeded while he cracked open each of the stasis containers in turn.

His gaze still on Gwydir, Solo told the Wookiee, "I'm glad you stuck to the plan, buddy."

["Let us talk about this later,"] Chewbacca suggested. ["Now is not the time. I can tell you are not in a good mood."]

Solo's eyes flicked briefly over to the Wookiee's. "Really?" The sarcasm was thick in his voice. "Sure. We'll talk later."

Oblivious to the tension between the pilot and the Wookiee, Gwydir set about checking the spice. The 300 or so vials of glitterstim were intact, and the containers of Muon Gold, Gree and Crash n' Burn still sealed. He made a tetchy but contented sound deep in his throat, and set about re-sealing the containers.

"All there?" Solo checked, eager to end the transaction.

Gwydir turned and nodded begrudgingly at Solo.

"You're a real charitable soul, aren't you Stig?" Solo said glibly. "I'd say there's enough spice there to fry out the brains of the Naalii about 10-times over."

"Don't act so righteous, boy," Gwydir replied angrily. "What do you care? You're the one who smuggled it in, remember? You're as complicit in peddling drugs as I am!"

Solo felt his hackles rise, his trigger finger twitching with the desire to complete its action. An acidic response swept through his mind, but Chewbacca interrupted him before he could get it out.

["The woman has returned."]

Solo looked back towards the apartment's living areas and Gwydir followed his eyes.

Pointing his blaster at Gwydir like it was an extension of his hand, Solo ordered, " _You_ stay here. Chewie, if he so much as moves a muscle, kill him."

Chewbacca made a show of sighting his bowcaster at Gwydir to indicate he was willing to carry out the order.

"And if _you_ so much as touch _her_ , Solo," the elder man warned him, "I'll kill you with my bare hands."

Solo was not impressed by the threat, but reflected on the sentiment behind it. He tempered his reply. "If she's got the credits, you've got nothing to worry about."

Solo strode over to the stairs, his gait loose and self-assured, belying the way his body felt. Willa watched him warily, chewing nervously on a fingernail while her other hand clutched a wad of credit vouchers. She hesitated at his instruction to come down to the bottom of the steps, but she took a deep breath and obeyed.

"I won't hurt you," he promised.

Willa eyed his blaster sceptically. "You killed those men." She pointed at the bodies of Reverz and the guards. "And you want to hurt Stig."

"Just scare him a bit," he admitted. "And get what's mine." He held open his palm and she gasped at the ugly bruising that marred his crooked fingers. "Gimme the credits and I'll get out of here."

His thumb tucked over the credit vouchers as she placed them into his damaged hand. Solo stuffed the credits in a jacket pocket, deciding to leave his hand within the pocket's protective hold.

"You're not going to count it?" Willa asked incredulously. She sounded like a woman who had not experienced much trust in her life.

Han winked at her. "I believe you. And it looks and feels about right."

Despite his confidence about the quantity of credit vouchers, Han considered keeping Willa and her husband together, just until he and Chewie made a run for the waiting freighter.

"Mama?" The young girl, Talia, had appeared at the top of the stairs. Still in her bathing suit, the girl clutched a fuzzy toy to her chest, her face puffy and tear-stained.

"It's okay, honey." Willa's voice trembled slightly as she spoke in reassuring tones. "Go back inside. I'll be up in a moment."

There was a warning growl from Chewbacca. Solo glanced across at Gwydir and saw the Wookiee refrain the Corellian businessman with the stock and muzzle of the bowcaster. The look on Gwydir's face was lethal.

Han felt his energy levels dip as all his injuries pulsed simultaneously. The ache in his fingers was nauseating and for a moment he thought he might throw up.

"Mama?" Talia struggled to choke back the tears.

Willa grabbed Han's right elbow and he tensed as the shock reverberated down to his hand.

"Please," she appealed to him. "Please. You have to let me go to her. She needs me."

Han nodded robotically, anything so that she would let go of his arm.

Willa took off up the stairs, swept Talia tearful into a hug and carried her back inside the apartment.

Solo chanced a touch of the credits inside his pocket. It was time to leave.

The short walk back to Chewbacca seemed to drain what was left of Solo's strength. Nausea bubbled at the back of his throat. But it was the indignant fury in Gwydir's eyes that nearly pushed him over the edge. Part of him itched for an excuse—any excuse—to send Gwydir to the same placed he'd sent Fu'aad. Another part felt there had been enough killing for one day, so he studiously ignored his elder compatriot.

"That's it," he told the Wookiee. "Let's scratch dirt."

"That's it," Gwydir stated sarcastically. "Oh, you're sadly mistaken, boy."

Solo turned his head towards Gwydir, the young man's eyes suggesting that he had little patience left.

Gwydir prefaced his tirade with a stream of obscenities. "You think you'll be safe once you fly out of here? Well I'm telling you, pask'aghlla. You better watch your back, because I'll hunt you down. No matter where you hide, I'll hunt you down."

A deep sigh shuddered in Solo's chest. "Who are you kidding, Gwydir? You may be a big narkaa, but this is a very small sea. We both know you'll never make it off this planet. You couldn't cope with anything bigger and smarter than the Naalii. That's why you've been here for years. That's why you'll die here."

Gwydir lunged for Solo, but the younger Corellian was too quick. His blaster fired, only this time the concentric blue rings of a stun blast hit their target. Gwydir crumpled to floor.

Chewbacca prodded Gwydir's stunned body with the muzzle of his bowcaster, then turned to Han.

["I thought you might have finished him off like the others."]

Solo shook his head, the movement causing him to waver slightly on his feet. Chewbacca steadied him with one hand.

["You want to take the spice as well?"]

Solo shook his head again. "We had a deal. The credits for the spice." He looked across at the freighter. "Besides, we're taking his ship."

["And the legit cargo,"] Chewbacca added. ["I did not have time to find a buyer."]

Solo rolled his eyes. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

The partners cast a final glance around before heading up the access way towards the ship.

["I owe you an apology,"] Chewbacca told Han as they reached the freighter's ramp. ["I did not think you were capable of facing Gwydir on your own."]

Solo glanced at the Wookiee. "I got us ten thousand."

Chewbacca appraised the young man with a rueful grin.

["You handled yourself exceptionally well. I will never doubt you again."] Chewbacca placed a consoling hand on his partner's shoulder. ["And remind me _never_ to piss you off."]

Han couldn't even raise a smile as they entered ship.


	5. Chapter 5

4

 **A Fair Fight**

 **by CorellianBlue**

(first published 2003, revised 2015)

V

Chewbacca gently wrapped the bacta-impregnated bandage around Han's fingers, watching the young man's face for any signs of discomfort. Chewbacca had given him a pain-relief hypo before the bone-knitters had commenced their work, so the Wookiee was reasonably confident Solo was pain-free. But as Han's eyes were closed and his face a vacant mask as he leaned back against the pillows on his bunk, it was difficult to tell. The Corellian looked as though he was asleep, yet Chewbacca knew otherwise.

Their departure from Tuusaan'ara had been quick and unimpeded. With the jump to hyperspace complete, Solo had retreated to his cabin to take care of his injuries. Chewbacca had followed his partner to assist, only stopping his in his path when the pilot made a detour to the heads. Chewbacca retrieved the freighter's well-stocked medical kit and had waited in the cabin, pretending not to hear the young man throwing up in the 'fresher and not commenting on the ashen face that appeared in the cabin's hatchway shortly after.

They had exchanged few words as Chewbacca helped Han remove his gun-rig, jacket and shirt, and then set about repairing the fractured rib before working on Solo's broken fingers.

With the fingers firmly protected, Chewbacca made a satisfied growl to himself and lay Han's forearm against a pillow. The Wookiee then tentatively prodded his hairy fingers into Solo's flat stomach. The young man flinched, but his eyes remained closed.

"Don't," Han warned. "I'm just a bit sore."

Chewbacca grumbled in annoyance, before running his fingers lightly across Solo's jaw.

Solo pulled his head away as a pair of hazel eyes flashed open. "Enough!"

Chewbacca refrained from baring his teeth in a snarl and bit out, ["You are welcome."]

The anger in Solo's eyes dissipated and he dropped his gaze. Chewbacca shook his head and started clearing away the bone-knitting apparatus and empty medicinal vials.

["Do you need anything else?"] he asked tersely.

When there was no response Chewbacca looked up at Solo. His partner's face was pale again and his mouth twitched as he struggled with a bout of nausea. Chewbacca quickly reached into the medical kit and retrieved a hypo-infuser, which he pressed against the bare skin on Han's arm and injected. Han frowned at the sudden assault and was about to complain when he realised the nausea had gone.

["You looked like you were about to throw up again,"] Chewbacca explained. ["I thought you might need some help."]

Solo grimaced apologetically. "Thanks."

["Do not mention it."]

Solo looked as if he wanted to say more, so Chewbacca left the medkit unpacked and waited for a moment. The silence between them was uneasy. When it appeared that the conversation had ended, Chewbacca sighed and turned his attention back to the medical equipment.

Han cleared his throat. "Chewie."

Chewbacca stopped again to show he was listening.

"Thanks for backing me up with Gwydir."

The fur on Chewbacca's expressive forehead raised questioningly. ["'Backing you up'?"]

Solo rolled his eyes. "All right. Thanks for rescuing me."

Chewbacca chuckled. ["Perhaps not quite a rescue. I meant what I said before. You handled yourself well. I was there to pull you out when you needed it. That is what partners are for."]

A slight smile tugged at Han's lips. "Well, thanks for reminding me of that. I guess you were right. I can trust you. I can rely on you."

Chewbacca nodded, knowing the correct response could not be said in words. Then he reached across and ruffled Han's hair to break the serious atmosphere.

["You did well,"] the Wookiee told him again.

"What?" Han asked facetiously. "I kill people who tried to kill me and then I throw up about it?"

["You'll get used to it",] Chewbacca advised. ["The important thing is that you survived. If this is the way we're going to live our lives, then I would say that is the only thing that matters."]

Han let his head drop back against the pillows. "I don't think we've got much choice about the way we live. Have we?"

Chewbacca tilted his head ambiguously. ["We shall see.] He closed the medkit, placed it on the deck and rose from the seat beside Han's bunk. ["You should get some sleep.]

"I don't think I can sleep," the young man complained as he closed his eyes.

Chewbacca moved to the end of the bunk and began removing Han's boots. He was surprised there was no resistance.

["Then just lie here and relax."]

Solo was asleep before Chewbacca had finished. Smiling to himself, Chewbacca quietly left the cabin.


End file.
